


but will you ever get to hold me?

by thinkbucket



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Beach Trip, F/F, Neighbors AU, Strangers to Lovers, Sunscreen, Tattoo parlor AU, hospital au, moodboard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25238929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkbucket/pseuds/thinkbucket
Summary: a collection of prompts from my ask game over on tumblr that aren't quite long enough to warrant a full ficNOW ADDING flash fics
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 41
Kudos: 121





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> requested by anonymous: Hospital AU + Strangers to Lovers + “You did WHAT?”
> 
> this is not my best work and im feeling massively insecure but i had to get something out lol
> 
> (title is from midas by skott. wow, you say, you love the song so much you named two fics after it? yes, yes i do)

*

It’s not even thirty minutes into Tissaia’s shift in the ER, and it’s already chaos.

Which, granted, it kinda comes with the job. No one takes a position at one of the busiest hospitals in the city and expects it to be a calm and relaxing work environment. But there is a rather aggressive yelling match that appears to be going on down the hall, and when Tissaia walks closer, she realizes it’s the room she’s headed to. She double checks her chart just to be sure and, yep.

Fantastic.

She knocks, but the sound is drowned out in a woman’s very angry shouting, and Tissaia has half a mind to just turn around and come back later because this is _really_ not how she wanted to start off her work day.

Tissaia simply sighs, turns the handle and walks in.

Right into a woman. Who has to be an actual honest to god model. A very angry model, who is clutching her chin and scowling.

“Shit, what the hell? Can’t you knock?” she gripes as Tissaia holds her forehead and winces. 

She looks up at the woman and for a brief second really considers whether or not she’s just given herself a concussion, because really, there is absolutely _no_ way this woman can be real.

“I did, but it must not have been heard, sorry about that. And for your chin.” Because it’s a nice chin. She inadvertently glances at the woman’s chin and, by association, her lips as she says this. 

The woman stops scowling long enough to look curious before she’s angry again. She spins to face the man sitting up on the bed, who Tissaia assumes to be her boyfriend, and says, “I’ll be right back, try not to dislocate anything else,” before storming out.

Tissaia raises both eyebrows slightly but says nothing as she picks up the chart, scanning through it. 

“Mr. Rivia, correct?”

“Yes ma’am,” the man, Geralt Rivia, whose name sounds vaguely familiar, affirms. The guy looks like he’s gotten a new asshole ripped into him, and by the looks of his girlfriend, he’ll probably end up with a few more yet. She feels a bit bad for him.

“I’m Dr. de Vries. And I see you’ve broken your hand and dislocated your shoulder in a . . . ,” she trails off, and she takes it back. This man is a dumbass.

He also happens to be a professional athlete — she realizes why his name is familiar — who makes headlines even outside the sports section. 

So a professional dumbass. 

“Yeah, it was stupid.”

“Not the most ridiculous injury I’ve encountered, rest assured,” she consoles. And sure, attempting to tackle your own teammate in the locker room, slipping on gatorade, ending up with a four man pileup, cleats jammed into your hand and dislocating a shoulder, isn’t the absolute dumbest injury she’s seen by far, but it certainly takes the cake this month. “Any other members of the football team here with you today?” she asks. 

“Fortunately, no, this is the only moron today,” and the model is back, scowl and all. 

“Yen, why don’t you just wait outside,” Geralt suggests. 

“Because whatever this pretty lady has to say to you I wanna be here to hear. And I know you won’t remember.”

And, huh, that’s. Ok. 

“I’m injured, not incompetent, Yen,” he sighs. 

The woman, Yen, rolls her eyes. “Please, do you even know what hospital you’re in right now? Did you even call your boyfriend?” 

Oh. OH. 

“I didn’t want to worry him,” Geralt mumbles a bit sheepishly.

“It’s fine, I already called him while I went to pee,” she says in response.

“You did _what_?” Geralt exclaims, and he’s probably alarmed that she’s gone and called his boyfriend behind his back, but Tissaia’s just a little grossed that she made a phone call on the toilet. She’s never understood people that do this. 

Her face must have betrayed some disgust at the thought, because the woman corrects herself, “I mean, not like actually while peeing, that’s nasty. Just when I was on the way back.” 

Geralt affects a confused expression, saying, “Yen, you do that all the time, why would I —” and then he stops, realization dawning and morphing into mildly horrified, but it’s too late. 

And, cleanliness and etiquette aside, the fact that this flawless woman (again, cleanliness and etiquette aside) is livid about her spot being blown up is a bit. Cute? Or something. 

“Right,” Tissaia says then. “Let’s start with some x-rays.”

*

The boyfriend shows up right as Geralt is about to get discharged. He’s all sorts of worried and clingy and he asks a lot of questions, but soon enough, they’re stepping out the door and Tissaia is just finishing up at the computer. As she turns to leave the room, she’s startled to find Yen, or Yennefer Vengerberg, as she’s learned her full name to be, and who is _actually_ a model, still standing in the doorway.

“I didn’t know you were still here. Did you need anything else, Ms. Vengerberg?”

Yennefer gives a little smile before she asks hopefully, “Your number?”

Maybe she should check to be sure she’s not concussed, because it really just sounded like Yennefer was asking for her number. And surely that isn’t the case.

Yen must have confused her hesitation for something else, because she says, “I solemnly swear I will not call you while on the toilet.”

Tissaia breathes out a little laugh, and then she walks towards the door, towards Yennefer. And normally when this happens she writes out a fake number, because she doesn’t have _time_ for romance, but she’s on autopilot and she’s reaching into her coat pocket to pull out her business card. And now that Yennefer has seen it, it’s a bit too late to put it back. 

She shouldn’t do this. She doesn’t have the time nor energy to date. She’ll just get Yennefer’s hopes up for nothing by giving her the card. But it will fine, totally fine, she can just turn her down later. Doesn’t have to be now; it’ll be easy enough to text her and tell her she’s not interested when Yennefer does contact her, _if_ she does contact her. 

She holds the card out for the woman to take, and Yennefer is definitely brushing her fingers against hers on purpose, she is absolutely checking Tissaia out as she glances down, and holy hell this woman is forward, because she’s looking down at her lips and then she’s fucking smirking before she says, “Thanks, Doc. I’ll give you a call later, kay?”

“Make sure to empty your bladder before you do,” Tissaia sniffs and Yennefer grins, big and wide, and Tissaia feels her heart bursting a tiny bit. 

“Deal.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tattoo parlor au. strictly speaking, nobody sent me this prompt lmao. i was working on a moodboard for the yennaia moodboard challenge we're doing and uh, it just happened

*

Tissaia was just supposed to drop her off. 

She was _supposed_ to drop Rita off and go on about her business. She had things to do, a schedule to stay on, and just, things. She had things. To do. She was a busy woman. 

“It’s a Friday night, when the rest of the world celebrates the end of the workweek and goes out to have a good time, get drunk, get a tattoo, live your life. You literally never do anything,” Rita is whining. “Why are you so _boring_?”

“Because the work doesn’t end for me on the weekends, Rita,” Tissaia says on a sigh as she makes the turn into the shopping center. The tattoo parlor where she’s taking Rita is at the end of the strip. It’s just starting to get dark outside, the street lights beginning to light up the mostly vacant parking lot. 

“At least keep me company until they’re ready to see me. It can be your five minute outing of the weekend.”

“Friday isn’t weekend,” Tissaia grumbles, nevertheless she pulls into a parking slot and cuts the engine. She raises an eyebrow at Rita. “I’m leaving as soon as they get started on you. I have work to do when I get home.”

“Yeah yeah,” Rita says as she exits and slams the door excitedly. “C’mon, workaholic.”

Tissaia’s heels click on the asphalt while they walk together. As they approach the parlor, Tissaia notices a woman standing outside. She’s all dark hair and good looks and sporting a leather jacket in the cool air of the evening, leaning against the window and smoking a cigarette as she looks down at her phone. She notices them as they draw closer, her eyes landing on Tissaia. 

Tissaia knows she’s fairly attractive. She’s used to the passing comments, the lingering gazes. But the look that this woman fixes on her is _different_. It’s chilling and igniting all at once, and she suppresses a shudder that has nothing to do with the autumn air. Tissaia watches as the woman’s eyes flit down as she appraises her briefly and up to meet her eyes again. She pockets her phone and takes another long drag of her cigarette before dropping it on the pavement and stamping it out, walking inside the tattoo shop.

“Holy shit, she was totally checking you out,” Rita whispers excitedly.

“I’m sure she does that a lot,” Tissaia tries to wave it off, tamping down the flutter she’s feeling. 

Rita huffs, “She didn’t with me.” Then, “Oh my god you can’t leave now, you have to stay and talk with her.”

“What — no, Rita, _Rita_ ,” she protests as her friend grabs her wrist with a vice-like grip and begins to drag her to the shop with her. 

“Whatever you have to do, it can wait a couple hours,” Rita grins maniacally as she pushes the door open. A bell chimes as they enter. Two women are seated talking at the reception desk; one is curly haired and cheerful, the other is the woman who was outside. Both stop talking and look up when they hear they door. 

The dark haired woman makes eye contact with Tissaia once again, this time raising her eyebrows slightly and giving a slight smile before she excuses herself to her coworker and disappears into the back. 

“Welcome,” the girl at the desk greets. “Are you the 6:00 for Sabrina?”

“I am,” Rita says in reply. “And this is my moral support,” she adds, raising Tissaia’s wrist still in her grip before lowering it again, still enclosed as though afraid she will bolt at any second.

“I’m just here until —“ Tissaia starts to say before two things happen. The first: Rita digs her nails into her captive’s wrist. The second: Dark Haired Woman reemerges from the back, drying her hands on a paper towel. 

“Until my tattoo is complete,” Rita finishes for her, and Tissaia doesn’t bother to correct her. She can sort through emails here on her phone. No problem. 

No problem at all.

*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> combining a prompt from the ask game with the flash fiction challenge. sassy-sappho requested: Neighbors AU, Strangers to Lovers, “You did WHAT?” 
> 
> special thanks to everyone in discord who let me shout my incoherent ramblings at them. for this one specifically, thank you kapua and wild_artemis for your input! and also JZXR7 for her suggestion as well the the clear fire escape inspiration from her own neighbors fic 
> 
> also also this one was exactly 1000 words and i'm extraordinarily proud of that lmao

If anyone were to look outside their window right now on this fine summer night, Yennefer would probably get arrested. 

Because what it looks like is an insane, half naked, probably drunk woman climbing up the fire escape to break into an apartment. 

In reality, it is a completely sane, half naked, _incredibly_ drunk woman climbing up the fire escape to break into her own apartment. 

“Yennefer, Yen, oh my god, you’re gonna fall! She’s gonna fall, Sabrina, she’s gonna fall and she’s gonna die,” Triss is babbling underneath her, unsteadily holding onto her immensely intoxicated friend’s legs as a skinny-jeans-and-bra-clad Yennefer balances on Triss’ shoulders, attempting to hoist herself up onto the fire escape. In celebration of Yennefer finally getting her own place and becoming an Adult, her friends had driven over to visit for the weekend and gone out for drinks, not realizing until fifteen minutes ago that she’d forgotten her keys inside her brand spanking new apartment.

So here they are, Triss holding Yennefer up and trying to maneuver her as close to the fire escape as possible in an awful parody of a college cheerleading routine, Sabrina cheering them on from her seat on the sidewalk. She’s supposed to be spotting them, but the blonde can’t even keep herself upright, much less her companions. It’s chill. 

Yennefer finally manages to get a hand on the bottom rung of the drop ladder, then yells louder than is necessary, “I got it!” To which Triss responds by taking half a step back before the ladder comes clanking down mere inches from her nose. Yennefer, with far more agility than someone with the amount of liquor she has consumed should have, ambles up the fire escape stairs to the fifth story. She’s a hero, she’s gonna take care of her friends, make sure they don’t all have to sleep on the streets tonight.

She grips the bottom of the window, the one she left cracked open. (Which, in hindsight, is probably not the best thing to do. Provided one has their keys, of course.)

Only the window isn’t open. 

Ah, fuck. Wrong fire escape.

“Shit,” she half yells, realizing her mistake.

“What?” Triss yells back.

But Yennefer is already all the way up here, and she’s really drunk, she’s not sure if they can manage to do this all over again without someone passing out or getting a concussion. She can do this. “Nothing!” 

It’s _fine_.

Okay, so she’ll sneak in through the neighbor’s window, hope that whoever lives there is deep in their slumber, maybe borrow something that she can jimmy her lock open with, and then let her friends in. Easy peasy. 

Only, it’s a whole lot harder to open a closed window from the outside than it looks. Alright, Plan B. She steps back to look at the windows up and down the fire escape. Bingo. Two floors up, she can see a wide open window. 

“Yen, what are you doing?” Triss yells up at her as she climbs the stairs, steps resounding on the large metal contraption. She’s evidently aware that Yennefer has bypassed her floor.

“Shhh!” She hushes her. “Just wait!”

She approaches the open window, where a solitary light is on in the kitchen. Hopefully they’re asleep. Or won’t mind her passing through. Either way, she cautiously steps inside.

And promptly crashes onto the ground, taking a potted plant or two down with her, because she totally miscalculated the distance from the window to the floor. Disoriented, she sits up, takes a second to steady herself because the room is swimming, and she’s at least sober enough to know she’s not a fish.

She stands after a minute, brushing off soil. And comes face to face with the evidently _very_ awake occupant of the apartment. And good lord, the only thing Yennefer can think for a second is this woman looks _ravishing_. 

She also looks terrified as hell, and is brandishing a large kitchen knife that looks _almost_ as sharp as the woman’s cheekbones. She’s got short brown hair and clad in a fairly revealing silk robe that’s making Yennefer’s mouth water. 

“What the — Jesus fucking — who the hell are you?”

“Oh, hi, I’m Yennefer,” Yennefer says, with her best sexy smile plastered on her face. Not every day you wind up in a gorgeous woman’s apartment after all.

The woman looks puzzled for a moment, jaw opening and closing like maybe _she’s_ the fish, and the thought makes Yennefer giggle to herself. 

“Okay. _What_ are you doing in my apartment, Yennefer?” 

Oh, yes, right. She looks at the knife still in the beautiful, beautiful woman’s grasp. “Say, can I borrow that?”

“Excuse me?” She tightens her grasp on the kitchen knife.

“I just need to get into my apartment. I’ve locked myself out, so I climbed up the fire escape —”

“You did _what_?”

“How did you think I got in here?”

“I don’t know, I just heard a ruckus, I didn’t pay attention to where it came from.” A pause, as the woman looks at the window, then, “You’ve broken my pots!”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I promise you I can pay for them, if you can just help me and my friends back into my apartment,” she says, arming herself with her best charming smile now. 

The woman looks at her as if stunned, then seems to finally take in her state of dress (or rather undress) before glancing worriedly towards the window once again. “Your friends?”

“They’re waiting for me on the ground.” 

The woman sighs in relief.

“So, could I borrow that knife, or…”

*

The next morning, Tissaia de Vries wakes up to find her bent bobby pins returned and slid under her (locked) apartment door, along with a note, upon which is a phone number and a very red lipstick mark. 

_Wallet’s out of cash, but dinner on me sometime and call it even for the plant pots and the bobby pins?_

_Yennefer V. xoxo_

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beach trip because i wanted to write about sunscreen. many thanks to Kapua and queerjewishwerewolf for the inspiration!

Blue skies, light wind, only a few clouds, and tolerable company. All ideal conditions in Tissaia’s book for her and a few coworkers from the office to spend a Saturday at the beach. It’s been an extra trying couple of weeks, and they’ve just successfully wrapped up a fairly large project, happy to finally be able to unwind and have a stress free weekend. 

It’s not a large group, just five of them — it was all that Tissaia was willing to fit in her car. And as the designated driver, she made the rules. 

Honestly, she doesn’t know why she agreed to go along with this. After a long week, there’s nothing more she’d like to do than sleep in for once, and then get some household chores out of the way. (She does know why she came though, and it’s because Yennefer asked her to.)

It’s still early in the day, and Triss and Sabrina have found a nice spot. They begin to unload their beach bags, and Rita drags the cooler to one corner, already reaching inside. The sounds of crashing waves and chattering seagulls surround them as they settle in.

“Hey Tissaia,” Yennefer calls over to her.

“Yes?” Tissaia replies, not looking up as she straightens out her blanket at the corners.

“Mind giving me a hand with this?” the woman asks, and when Tissaia looks up, she can see in Yennefer’s hands her new mortal enemy. 

Sunscreen.

To say that Tissaia de Vries is attracted to Yennefer Vengerberg is probably the understatement of the fiscal year. The younger woman is their newest addition to the office, and she is distractingly attractive. To the point that Tissaia, ten time employee of the month and well renowned for her ability to ignore everything around her in favor of productivity, has found her thoughts drifting to the dark haired woman _far_ more than she’d like. But she’s not the only one enraptured by Yennefer’s beauty; both Istredd and Geralt have shown obvious interest in the woman, though she has yet to act on their advances beyond the occasional small flirtation. Besides, Tissaia isn’t even sure if Yennefer is into women.

She stares at the offending bottle in Yennefer’s hands, equal parts terrified and thrilled. When she glances back up at Yennefer’s face, the woman has her trademark smirk on her lips, eyebrows slightly raised. But it’s not malicious, and when Tissaia still fails to give an answer, Yennefer offers up a small, “Please?”

Tissaia is not a teenager. She is a grown ass woman. She can handle some fucking sunscreen.

With a nod the tiniest bit sharper than necessary, Tissaia walks forward and takes the bottle from Yennefer’s hands, taking care not to brush her fingers, but what’s the point of that anyway when Yennefer turns and presents her entire back to the woman. Only the thin strap of her black bikini interrupts the smooth expanse of skin before her. 

“Should I lay down?” Yennefer asks, turning to look at Tissaia out of the corner of her eye.

“If you want.”

Because oh, she does want. And Yennefer obliges, laying down on her blanket turning her head to the side, closing her eyes. 

Oh god.

She’s going to make it as quick as possible. Sizes out a healthy dollop of sunscreen onto her hands before she gently applies it to the skin of Yennefer’s back. Is it even possible for skin to be this smooth? She idly notes every minute mark on the woman’s skin. It’s impossible to miss the way Yennefer’s breathing speeds up, watching and feeling her back and shoulders rise and fall. She spreads the sunscreen lower and lower, gets dangerously close to the bottom of her bikini. 

She snaps the cap on the bottle and rises.

“Would you like me to do you, too?” Yennefer sits up and asks, and goddamn it, she knows exactly what she’s doing, the innocent expression betrayed by a twitch of the lips and dark eyes.

But Tissaia would be lying if she said it wasn’t working for her.

“If you don’t mind.” She turns and unbuttons her blouse before sliding it off her shoulders. She feels eyes boring into her back, feeling _extremely_ warm, and it has nothing to do with the hot summer sun. 

She lays down and takes in a deep breath.

Yennefer’s hands are...gentle. Almost caressing, gliding across her skin in a delicate dance. Her fingers skirt under her bikini top, and it’s only by extreme self control that she keeps her breathing level. 

“Are you always this tense?” Yennefer asks as her hands rub into the knots in her shoulders, and it feels _so_ good.

“I suppose.”

“Hm.” Strong fingers expertly dig into her shoulder muscles then, and fuck, fuck, her breath hitches. 

“Jesus, this from all the stress I cause you at work or what?” Yennefer jokes.

“Mmh — mmhm,” she hums in reply, melting into Yennefer’s hands, not registering what she’s said, she’s so lost in the long, strong fingers working magic on her back. 

“Oh really? I suppose it’s my job to get rid of it then,” Yennefer says decisively, moving to sit astride the woman, knees straddling her and her ass pressing onto her own.

Tissaia’s eyes fly open (when did they close?). “What — ” 

“Just relax,” Yennefer says in a soothing voice, and when the younger woman says it like that, it’s almost like Tissaia doesn’t have a choice. 

She looks at the bottle of sunscreen on the blanket and silently apologizes to it for calling it her enemy. And she closes her eyes again. She might as well enjoy this. 


End file.
